


Tried and Failed

by CawCawMF



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Sherlock is pining, molly is oblivious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2014-04-24
Packaged: 2018-01-20 17:21:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1518890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CawCawMF/pseuds/CawCawMF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Sherlock finally realizes his feelings for a certain pathologist, he tries, and fails, to woo her. Here are some of his attempts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There was nothing extraordinary about that day. There wasn't a big case that he had to work on. In fact, there was no case at all. He was at the morgue working on lab cultures when it happened. 'It' being the sudden change in Sherlock Holmes when it came to a certain mousey pathologist. She was looking no different than usual, her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail and sporting an awful jumper.

If he had to give a reason as to why 'it' happened, it would probably be the following conversation.

"Molly, I'm going to need you to stay late tonight and help me finish these."

Without even looking up from her work she responded, "I have plans, Sherlock."

He gave an irritated sigh. "Well cancel them, of course."

"No."

That was new. Stuttering apologies and stammering excuses, he was used to. Flat out refusal, he was not. He looked up for the first time, shocked to see her still intently looking away from him. Perhaps a little flattery was all that was needed.

"You know, Molly, that shade really does look lovely on-"

"No."

His jaw dropped for just a moment as she continued to work.

"I beg your pardon?"

She finally looked up, her eyes somewhat amused, much to his frustration.

"Sherlock, I said no. False compliments aren't going to get you anywhere. We can finish your experiment in the morning."

And that was when 'it' happened. At that moment, Molly Hooper ceased to be the mousey pathologist who helped him fake his death. Instead she became...well, he wasn't sure yet, but he knew it was more.

He knew she was acting more like herself around him since the Fall. Did that mean she had always been like this, but just never around him? He hoped not. He kind of liked this Molly with a bit of fire. He would hate to think he had been the one dousing that flame for years.

She was actually rather intelligent. You don't become the youngest female pathologist 's ever had by being a bumbling idiot. After all, he never would have asked for her help if he thought her stupid.

And, if he was being honest with himself, he rather liked the way she looked. Especially right now, while she worked. She had a look of fierce determination in her eyes that his admired. Her long brown hair, though beautiful when down, was now out of her face, which was practical, and he loved practicality. Besides, he loved seeing her face when it was clean of make-up and full of passion.

And that is when he realized that 'it' had happened. He, Sherlock Holmes, fancied Molly Hooper. Right. Well, now that was settled, how exactly should he proceed here? He was in a new situation. It was rather like an...experiment. He smiled at the thought and found himself surprisingly excited at his newfound feelings.

He swiftly went through his limited knowledge of romantic interactions before he spoke again. What did John usually do? Didn't he try to ask the girl out? And there was that one time Molly had asked him for coffee...oh. He had to make up for that. Actually, he had to make up for a lot of things. But, perhaps she had the right idea.

"Molly?"

"Sherlock, look-"

"This isn't about the experiment," he added quickly, noticing her growing frustration.

She looked at him suspiciously before asking,"Well what, then?"

He paused. "How about some coffee?"

There. That sounded nice enough, didn't it? He didn't use sarcasm, he gave her a friendly smile...Why is she frowning?

"Fine, Sherlock," she sighed sadly, much to his confusion. He wanted to smile at her acceptance, but he was still worried about the way she was acting. He grew even more confused as she stood up and stormed out of the lab without a word.

Didn't she just agree to have coffee with him? Or was she being sarcastic? Was it possible he had missed that? No, of course not. Then why was she acting so oddly?

Suddenly, the door opened again and Molly stalked over to his chair. A cup of steaming hot coffee was placed down in front of him as she walked back toward her station. He ran over his words in his head and then realized his mistake. Of course she thought he was...idiot!

"Molly, that's not-"

"What, Sherlock? That's not what? Not how you take it? Do you take it differently now? Because I know for a fact that's how you've taken it for the past three years!"

She looked as shocked as himself by her outburst, but she made no attempt to apologize, for which he was thankful.

"No, no. The coffee is perfect, as always. Nevermind," he muttered hurriedly.

"Right," she huffed. She turned back to her work, but he felt the need to say something more.

"And thank you."

He smirked when he saw her jaw drop a fraction of an inch.


	2. Advice

"Sherlock, it's two in the bloody morning! I thought we had agreed that you would keep the violin put away while the humans are sleeping."

Sherlock ignored him and continued to play the same haunting melody. That is, he did until he was struck in the face by a throw pillow.

"John!"

"Oh look! He speaks!" John exclaimed as he tackled his friend to the floor.

"John, you're being a bit over-dramatic, don't you think?" Sherlock grunted as John fixed him in a head-lock.

"I - Excuse me? I'm the one being over-dramatic? Have you met yourself?"

"Fine, I'll put it away if you'll stop this foolish behavior," Sherlock huffed.

John released him immediately. Perhaps he was a bit silly, but John Hamish Watson didn't fool around when it came to his sleep.

Sherlock stood hastily, dusting off his shoulders and looking thoroughly affronted. "Well, you've gone and ruined my second favorite dressing gown."

"And you've probably woken Mrs. Hudson...again."

Sherlock had the decency to look ashamed now.

"Why are you even playing right now anyway? And don't say 'bored.' We just finished a case. Besides that, whatever that was, sounded..."

"Sounded like what, John? Do, speak."

"Well, if I had to sum it up, I would say heartbreak, but with teenage angst." John let out a loud snort of laughter. "Ha! Can you imagine that? Sherlock Holmes acting playing depressing emo music because of a crush? Oh, that would be good..."

John's laughter died down as he noticed the glare on Sherlock's face.

"What? Are you saying that I am incapable of feeling? I thought that after the fall, you of all people would have realized that is not the case," Sherlock hissed, his eyes sparking angrily. John gulped

"No! No, of course I know-"

"Then what? You don't think that I can have romantic feelings for a woman?"

"Of course I-"

"Because I assure you that is not the case either."

"I know. I just - Wait. Hang on. Do you...do you have feelings for someone? Is that why - Oh my God, you were playing depressing emo music because of a crush."

"Oh, do be quiet, John," Sherlock deflected, but John could see his cheeks growing red. He couldn't help it. He laughed. Loudly. Sherlock fumed. John thought he might even smash his violin, but he couldn't stop laughing. He didn't falter until Sherlock began to storm away.

"No, no, no. Wait, Sherlock. I'm sorry. You just have to understand how unexpected this is."

"Yes, well, it was unexpected here as well."

"Well, does she feel the same?"

"That's just the thing! She used to, I'm sure of it. But now, I don't know, it's like she has no interest in me at all."

"So, who is she?"

For the first time in John's life, Sherlock Holmes seemed nervous. "Sherlock, who is she?"

"Well, you have to promise you won't laugh again," Sherlock said. John nodded his agreement.

"It's Molly."

"I'm sorry, who?"

"Molly."

"As in Molly Hooper?"

"Yes."

"The girl that works in the morgue?"

"Yes."

"So, let me get this straight. The girl who has been in love with you for years, who waited on your hand and foot, and who even helped you fake your death, has finally gotten over her feelings for you and you have gone and developed feelings for her?"

"Yes!"

"You really do have the worst luck."

"Not helping, John."

"Look, mate. Just talk to her. I'm sure she still likes you. She's probably just trying to get over you, you know? Just let her know you feel the same way."

"Talk to her? That's your great advice?"

"Best advice there is."

"Well, it's no wonder you can't keep a girlfriend, then."

"And that's my cue to go to bed," John huffed angrily before storming off.

Sherlock considered his advice briefly. Perhaps talking wouldn't be too difficult. After all, it was only Molly Hooper.

When Sherlock arrived at the morgue the following day, he realized how incredibly wrong he was.

He had attempted several times over the past few hours to bring up the subject of dating with Molly. However, most of the conversations, though they were actually fairly decent and intellectually stimulating conversations he found, did not go as planned. Finally, he decided to go for ambiguity.

"Molly, I was wondering if I could perhaps ask you advice on a personal matter."

Molly froze where she was working across the bench on a lab culture. Her eyes fluttered up toward him quickly.

"I'm sorry, what?"

He frowned and briefly considered telling her that she should pay better attention, but he held his tongue.

"I was wondering if I could ask your advice on a personal matter," he repeated. She blinked once, twice, three times before raising her eyebrows and letting out a breath.

"Right. That's what I thought you said. Just making sure I wasn't entering the Twilight Zone," she laughed lightly and to herself. She continued before he could say anything, hoping he wouldn't comment on her silly joke.

"Well, what, um, what is it I can help you with then?"

Sherlock paused before speaking, wondering how best to phrase this. He had seen this work in the past. He would ask for Molly's advice about someone else, but really he would be getting all the information he needed to know about her.

"Well, you see, I have this friend-" He searched for a random name. "-Bill. Recently he has found himself having feelings for someone, someone he is close to and has always been friends with. The thing is, he hasn't always treated this person well in the past. He doesn't know how to move past that or to gain forgiveness."

Sherlock spoke quickly and detached, hoping to sound uninterested in the matter. At the look of shock on her face, he spoke again.

"Normally I wouldn't distract myself with such trivial matters, but I owe him a favor and-"

"Sherlock, I think I know what's going on here."

Sherlock went rigid, but only responded by raising his eyebrow. "Oh?" He hated the tremor that went through his voice.

"Yes, Sherlock, and you don't have to worry. You were forgiven a long time ago."

His eyes shot up to her face in hope and he drew in a breath he didn't know he was holding. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could she continued.

"Honestly, John forgave you the moment you returned. Well, right after he punched you, that is."

Wait...John?

"I can't say I'm not a bit shocked by this, but I'm just glad that you're finally admitting to yourself that you do have feelings, even if they are for John. And I'm so happy that you would ask me for help with this, though indirectly."

"Molly, listen-"

"Don't worry, I'm not going to tell anyone. After all, you know you can trust me with a secret. Seriously though, Sherlock, the whole 'friend' thing? What are we, five? Look, it's my lunch so I'll catch you later, alright? And you best talk to John."

She gave him a quick smile before skipping out of the morgue, leaving Sherlock to wonder what in the hell had just happened.

"Well, damn."


	3. The Different Ways to Say It

"Okay, John. I'm prepared to take your advice. What do I do?"

John looked up from his newspaper in shock to see his best friend and flatmate standing in front of him with a resigned expression covering his face.

"I'm assuming you're talking about Molly, since you'd never stoop to asking my advice about anything else. I think women are probably the only subject you'd be willing to admit you have no expertise in."

Sherlock opened his mouth to make a snappy retort, but then remembered the incident with Molly only three days ago and thought better of it.

"Yes, this is about Molly."

John laughed. "What, no witty comeback? You must be serious about her if-"

"I am."

The intensity in Sherlock's voice wiped the smirk right off of John's face.

"Right. I see. Well, in that case, I already gave you my advice."

"That was hardly advice, John," Sherlock scoffed. John rolled his eyes and put his newspaper down on the coffee table, sensing this was going to be one of those long conversations where he had to teach Sherlock what 'normal' people do.

"Sherlock, talking to her and just laying everything out on the table is the best thing you can do. You have to be honest with her, and you can't play games. Women don't like that, and given your track record with Molly and how you've manipulated her in the past, I don't think she'd appreciate you toying with her emotions."

Sherlock glared at his friend. Did everyone have such little faith in him as to believe he was completely heartless?

"It wasn't my intention to string the girl along, John. I plan to make my feelings known. I was just wondering if there was a less outright way to do it," Sherlock spat out. John's face scrunched in confusion.

"Oh, I, uh, guess that's okay, then. Why don't you want to just tell her? I would have thought you would want to go about this the most efficient way possible."

Sherlock hesitated. "I...can't," he finished lamely.

John smirked slightly. "What do you mean, you can't?"

"I mean I've already tried and when I opened my mouth the words wouldn't come out! It was utterly ridiculous, John. I came up with some stupid story and it ended in complete disaster. I felt like a blubbering idiot. Me, John! I've never, not once in my life, felt that way."

John sat bewildered as the consulting detective finished his rant with an angry huff, his cheeks reddening in frustration and his eyes glaring at the arm of his chair like it was the cause of all his troubles. He'd never seen the man like this before, but he recognized immediately the symptoms of the disease his friend seemed to have fallen victim to.

"My God, you're actually in love with her."

Sherlock's head snapped up sharply. John expected to see disgust in his eyes; Sherlock had never made his thoughts about love a secret. However, he was surprised to see the panic in them instead. Oh yes, he was in love, indeed. And he was absolutely terrified by it.

"Don't be ridiculous, John. We both know I'm not capable of that," he responded hotly, but he looked away too quickly.

"I believe you're capable of a lot more than you think," John replied with a raised brow.

Sherlock's only response this time was a heated glare. John sighed and threw his hands up defensively.

"Fine, you don't love her. But, you're besotted with her. That much is obvious."

Sherlock was silent for a moment, continuing his glare, before he gave a short nod.

"Alright, what do I do?"

"Um, well, you have to let her know you care without actually saying it."

"Yes, I understand that. How?"

"Christ, Sherlock! Do things for her! Bring her coffee, compliment her, sincerely, um...Oh! Say sweet things to her."

"Say sweet things? You know that is not something I would even be able to do."

"Yes, you can. I'm not talking about anything overly cheesy, like in some sappy romance novel. But there are plenty of ways to let a woman know you care through your words."

"Fine, give me an example."

"Okay...um, you could say, 'You make my day.'"

Sherlock looked at him incredulously.

"You've got to be joking. I thought you said these wouldn't be cheesy."

John huffed in annoyance. "Fine, how about you tell her to be careful when she leaves."

Sherlock's brows furrowed. "Tell her to be careful? Why would I do that? My telling her would not necessarily make her anymore careful on her journey home or protect her from anything she or I have no control over."

Sherlock hated where this train of thought was leading him. He could now picture Molly leaving the hospital and being grabbed by some thief or rapist on her walk home. He could see her lifeless body lying in the middle of an alley. He resolved to follow her home from work everyday from now on.

Presently, John was rolling his eyes. "You should tell her because it lets her know you care, Sherlock. It lets her know that even though you have no control over it, you are concerned for her safety. Women love it when they can feel safe with a man, and trust me, that will make her feel protected in some small, subconscious way."

Sherlock considered John's words. "You know, that is actually quite brilliant. Do you have any more?"

John let out an exasperated laugh, but then noticed the clock.

"Actually, I have to go meet up with Mary, but I'm sure you can come up with some. You've got the basic concept, so just think about what would let her know you care, whether it seems silly or obvious to you or not."

With that, John hopped up and went to the door, quickly collecting his coat before heading out.

Sherlock sat flustered for a minute, but then grabbed John's laptop. He pulled up a search engine and typed in what he was looking for. As he scrolled through the pages, he found himself disgusted with the mindless drivel they contained. He was about to give up when one source caught his eye. It was a link to a review for a play. A few words stood out: "different ways to say 'I love you.'" He opened it and read.

The Curious Savage is a heart-warming play that can bring an audience to its knees with both laughter and tears. Mrs. Savage, a wealthy widow, is checked into a mental institution by her ungrateful step-children when she refuses to give them any of the inheritance their father left behind. The comedy ensues here as she sets each of them up by leading them on a wild goose chase for the buried money. The drama, however, lies with the patients she meets, all of whom have their own tale of woe. In the end, when she must leave, they refuse to say goodbye, but instead they each use a different odd phrase before leaving. Earlier in the play, Mrs. Savage told them there were many different ways to say, "I love you." This farewell from the patients warms her heart and the hearts of the audience...

Sherlock stopped reading. He was bored by most of the text, but was intrigued enough by the idea to find a copy of the script. After all, women liked plays, right? Surely Molly would like the fact he was quoting a play to her.

Upon reading it, he found the phrases to be just what John had described. Tomorrow, Molly would hopefully know that he cared for her.

"Good afternoon, Sherlock. What can I help you with today?"

Sherlock went over his prepared speech.

"Just thought I would stop by and check on some experiments. No need for you to stop your work, I can take care of everything I need," he replied smoothly. He mentally patted himself on the back, until he saw Molly's jaw drop in shock.

"Sherlock, are feeling alright?"

He almost let out a sigh of frustration, but he knew that would get him nowhere.

"I'm perfectly well, Molly, I assure you. But here, I stopped by the canteen on the way. I thought you might need this since you're working the night shift."

He swiftly thrust the coffee he had brought into her hand. She took it and stared at the contents in confusion. Oh no, had he gotten it wrong.

"You take it with milk and three sugars, correct?"

She looked up again, her eyes wide. She set the drink down and rushed toward him. He found himself unable to breathe as she stood inches from him. She raised her hand toward his face, and he closed his eyes in anticipation. It had worked. She understood. He hadn't even had to use those silly lines. He rejoiced and waited for her touch. He was surprised, however, when it came on his forehead. His eyes snapped open.

"You don't seem to have a fever," she muttered to herself, then brought both hands to his cheeks. He felt his breath leave at the feeling of her soft, warm hands caressing his wind-chilled flesh.

"Molly." He cursed himself for the way his voice quivered. "I am in perfect health. I was merely trying to be considerate."

She slowly brought her hands down, much to his dismay, and raised a brow at him.

"What do you want then? You don't want my help with an experiment, so then what is it?"

He did sigh with frustration this time.

"I don't want anything, Molly. It's just coffee."

Her face fell at his words, and he instantly regretted them. This is why he had to think before he spoke.

"Right, well, thank you then. I'll let you get to work."

She turned and stalked to her desk, leaving him to wallow and self-hatred. Unable to think of an appropriate apology, he simply fetched his experiments and set to work. The next few hours passed in, what he felt was, an uncomfortable silence. He never thought he would long to hear her stuttering attempts at conversation or her quivering laughter, but he suddenly found it quite endearing and much more preferrable to this encompassing quiet he was enduring.

At roughly 10:26, he heard a faint rumbling. Upon looking at Molly, and seeing her pink cheeks (which he, admittedly, found highly attractive), he concluded the noise came from her.

"Sorry, I haven't eaten since lunch. I must've lost track of the time," she giggled nervously. There was the Molly he had missed.

"Well, that's not very healthy. You should eat something immediately," he replied. There. Surely that showed caring. He cared for her health. He grimaced when she rolled her eyes.

"Don't worry, Sherlock. I'm not gonna keel over anytime soon. I'll still be here to help you with your experiments."

One step forward, two steps back, it seemed. He opened his mouth to negate her statement, but she spoke first.

"I'm going to run up to the canteen real quick and grab something. Do you want anything?"

"No, thank you."

She raised a brow at his polite response before just shaking her head and heading for the door. Suddenly, a line popped into his head. It seemed to fit here.

"Molly?" She turned around. "Don't forget to eat your vegetables."

The most adorable look of confusion crossed her face as she cocked her head to the side, and he had to stop himself from smiling adoringly. Seriously, what on earth had come over him? These feelings were downright ridiculous!

"Right," she said slowly, as if she were talking to a child. She turned on her heel and continued out the door.

Half an hour later, Molly had returned and was again working at her desk, shooting Sherlock suspicious glances every few minutes. He sighed deeply. Obviously his plan was failing. Perhaps he should have tried a different line. He wasn't ready to give up yet. After all, the best way to test a theory was multiple trials. He would just have to wait for another opportunity.

Suddenly, Molly rose from her chair and started to cross the room.

"Where are you going?"

She fixed him with a questioning stare. "I'm just going to get a file from the closet."

"Do you need any help?"

Hey eyes widened. "Well, it is on the top shelf, but I'm sure I can manage. I've always done it before," She sputtered, and he reveled in the fact that he made her flustered.

"Nonsense, I'm much taller than you. Let me get it," he responded, already rising from his chair. Apparently he had said something wrong, for she now looked annoyed.

"No, sit down. I said I can get it and I will."

He reluctantly obeyed, then realized his opportunity.

"Molly?" he said again. Again, she turned around to look at him, her face frustrated.

"What?"

"Don't fall and break your neck." And there's that adorable face again.

"Excuse me for a moment, I need to make a phone call."

His brows furrowed. "What about your file?"

"It can wait," she replied, rushing into her office and shutting the door forcefully. Well, that certainly hadn't gone as planned. Perhaps this wasn't the best idea. Curious about her sudden mood change, he got up and snuck over to the door of her office. Thankfully, the walls weren't very thick, and he was able to make out her end of the conversation.

"I'm telling you John, something is wrong with him."

Oh, perfect!

"He's saying all sorts of weird things and he's been acting oddly."

He could officially mark this down as a failure.

"John, I'm being serious! Just a second ago he told me not to fall and break my neck, and earlier he told me to eat my vegetables."

Looking back now, he realized that these things did indeed sound odd. Again, he should probably start thinking before he spoke. Dear Lord, what was happening to him? This woman was driving all sense of reason out of him. How could he be acting so foolishly.

"John, what if he's on something again?"

What? No...she could think-no. He felt despair wash over him thinking she had such little faith in him.

"Well if you're sure, do you think he's sick? Has he been acting odd lately? I checked his forehead earlier and he didn't feel like he had a fever."

Oh he was sick alright! He had come down with the worse illness imaginable. He had fallen prey to the clutches of woman's fatal touch. He suddenly realized why he had avoided this for so long. It was all consuming. Thoughts of Molly took over his mind palace like a disease, but strangely, he no longer wanted it to stop.

"I don't know why you're laughing! I don't find this amusing at all, and given your relationship with him I would think you would be a little more concerned."

Oh no. She still thought that. Oh, John would throw a fit. Sherlock felt a bit amused as he imagined John's reaction.

"What do you mean you're not in a relationship? Who the hell is Mary?"

Oh, this was great, indeed.

"So then...who was he-oh!"

Did she finally realize?

"No, I think I know what's going on now. Sorry to bother you, John. Goodbye."

Why did she sound...sad? Hearing her footsteps near the door, he ran back to his previous position in the room. Molly exited her office with slumped shoulders, and he felt the urge to rush to her side.

"Everything alright?"

She looked up, seeming startled. "Oh, yes. Actually, I think I'm going to head out a bit early. I'm not really feeling well. I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all. I was just finishing up anyway," he lied, only halfway through his experiment.

She gave him a small smile as she gathered her things. He, however, worried. He knew for a fact she was feeling just fine. She was obviously upset by the last few sentences of her phone call with John. He just couldn't figure out why. Had she truly understood his feelings and was disgusted by the prospect, or did she think he had meant someone else?

As they were heading out the door, he noticed a small umbrella in the corner of the room. Well, he had already made a fool of himself, so he might as well finish another line.

"Molly, take an umbrella out. It's raining."

Scrunching her face, she responded, "Sherlock, it's London. It's always raining. I think I can handle it."

He huffed angrily. "Yes, I realize that, but just...be careful." He spoke the last part softly. As he watched, he saw something akin to gratitude and affection run through her eyes.

"Thank you. I will."

And then, she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. Pulling back quickly, she blushed bright red before muttering a quick goodbye and rushing out the door. Sherlock, however, could only stand rooted to the spot, a goofy grin plastered on his face. Perhaps tonight hadn't been a complete failure after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btw, The Curious Savage is actually a play, and it is by far one of my absolute favorite plays. If you ever get a chance to see it (which you may not because it's not that well known) it's definitely worth it. Anyway, please please review and let me know what you think.


	4. Trouble

"Sherlock, would you mind explaining to me why Molly thinks not only that you are gay, but that you and I are in a relationship?"

Sherlock flinched as he turned to face John, who had just walked through the door of 221B.

"Well, remember how I told you the first time I tried to talk to Molly ended in disaster?" John nodded. "I may have asked her for advice to get background information, only to have her misunderstand and think I was talking about you."

John stared at him in bewilderment before letting out a bellowing laugh. "Only you would screw up so badly at chatting up a girl that she would end up thinking you're gay."

Sherlock bristled. "Well at least-"

He was cut off when his cell rang. He saw Molly's name flash across the screen and felt his stomach drop.

"John, it's her. What do I do?"

"Answer it, you dolt!" John yelled. He knew his friend was pretty much a genius, but sometimes he was convinced he had the mentality of a five year old child.

"But what do I say?"

"Well, 'hello' would be good for starters. Quick, before she hangs up," John barked.

Sherlock slid his thumb across the screen and pressed the phone to his ear. "Hello, Molly. What can I-"

"Sherlock?"

He froze at her quivering voice. He could hear the panic, the fear in it.

"Molly, are you ok?" he asked quickly, his sharp voice alerting John.

"I'm sorry to bother you, but Greg's not answering his phone and I didn't want to call the police if I'm just being silly, but-"

"Molly, what's wrong?" Sherlock pressed urgently.

"Well, I walked over to the Tesco for some milk. I'm on my way back now and, well, I think this man is following me. I wouldn't normally think anything, but he was following me around in the store and - oh I'm probably just being stupid. Nevermind, I'm sorry I called, I shouldn't have both-"

He was so stupid! He had been following her home every night, like he had previously decided, watching over her, but he hadn't taken into account if she would leave after that.

"Molly where are you?" He felt something come over him, something he couldn't explain.

"What?"

"Where are you?" he growled, already heading out the door, John hot on his heels. They hailed a cab quickly.

"U-um, I'm walking down Paddington Street." He barked the street address at the cabbie and told him to step on it.

"Do you see a phone booth anywhere?" he asked.

"Yes, there's one about twenty feet ahead," she murmured.

"Good. Get in it, close the door, and stay there. John and I are on our way."

"What?" she shrieked. "Sherlock, really, you don't have to do that. I'm probably just being paranoid, or something."

Sherlock ignored her outburst. "Can you still see the man, Molly?"

"Um...oh, yes. He's...he's just standing across the street. I-I think he's watching me." He could once again hear the fear in her voice and he felt rage grown in his chest. He would kill this man.

"It's okay, Molly. We'll be there soon. We're not far."

"Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you," she whispered. He remained silent, unable to speak with his heart racing in his chest.

"Wait, I don't see him anymore...I think-I think he might be gone. I don't see him anywhere on the street. Maybe it was just a flase alarm."

He heard the sound of the phone booth door opening.

"Molly, no. Don't leave the booth, wait for-"

He was cut off by an ear piercing scream. It was as if time had frozen, and he couldn't feel a thing. Then suddenly, everything restarted in hyperspeed with startling accuracy and he felt an acute pain in his chest.

"Molly? MOLLY!" He felt himself start to hyperventilate as John ripped the phone from his hand.

"Get there NOW!" he growled at the cabbie. Not a minute and a half later, Sherlock was jumping out of the cab and rushing toward a now vacant phone booth. His heart plummeted when he found her phone and purse lying on the ground just outside it, the contents of her purse scattered like it had been thrown down forcefully.

"Oh no," John spoke from behind him.

"Shut up, John. I need to focus."

He couldn't panic now. He had to find her. He shut his emotions out and focused on the facts. Her purse was left behind, her wallet included, meaning her attacker didn't want money but something else. He swallowed the bile rising in his throat at the implications of that. Large boot print leading toward the left. He followed it. It cut off abruptly, and he examined his surroundings. There were two large apartment buildings only separated by a thin alleyway. He could not decide which way the kidnapper would have gone. However, when he heard a muffled whimper coming from the alley, he didn't have to guess.

He rushed down it, and froze. There was Molly, pushed up against a wall, a heavy man hovering over her with a knife pressed to her throat. He couldn't think. All he felt was white hot rage, and for once, he simply acted. With all the force he could muster, he rushed at the man and tackled him to the ground. After a remarkably easy scuffle, he held the knife against the attacker. He raised it to slice the man in the throat.

"Sherlock, no!" Molly's voice stopped him. "Leave him for the police."

He desperately wanted to kill the man for laying a hand on Molly, but only her plea could stop him. He could hear John behind him, calling in the police.

"John, would you mind holding your gun on him? I'd rather not sit on him all night. He's not very comfortable."

But in truth, he couldn't be near the man and control his rage. John chuckled half-heartedly as he walked over. Sherlock hopped up, and immediately switched his focus to the woman he had become consumed by.

She was still leaning against the wall, her breath coming out shakily. He could see her blouse had been torn slightly, and he felt an overwhelming urge to take the knife and stab the man in the throat...or groin. His rage was taking over again, and her couldn't rein it in.

"What were you thinking?"

She looked up suddenly, her eyes going wide. "W-what?"

"Why would you go out in the middle of the night on a deserted? And for milk? Do you realize how incredibly stupid that is, Molly?"

"Sherlock." He ignored John's warning tone.

"And why on earth would you walk instead of taking a cab? Are you trying to get yourself killed? Are you?"

He heard her whimper and suddenly realized that she was cowering beneath him. He had somehow stalked toward her until he towered above her. He saw her terrified eyes and instantly hated himself. Before he could stop himself, he gathered her in his arms. She let out a small shriek and tried to push him away, but he just held her tighter.

"Molly, I'm sorry. I'm not angry at you. I'm so sorry. I did not mean to frighten you."

He felt her relax in his arms, and he reveled in the feeling of her small frame pressed tightly against his body. Suddenly, he felt her body star to shake with silent sobs, but he just held her closer, running his fingers through her hair soothingly. He looked over to John quickly and saw his friend give him an approving nod. After a few minutes, Molly's crying subsided, and she slowly looked up at him. He was struck then by her beauty. How had he never seen it before? Even with her face splotchy and red from from crying, and her mascara running, she was easily stunning.

"Thank you, Sherlock, for coming," she whispered with a shy smile.

He looked at her intensely for a long moment, gathering up all the courage he could muster for what he was about to say. "Molly, you have to understand, it would be most...inconvenient for me if I were to lose you," he said softly, reverently even. However, he saw the smile fall from her face, and he quickly felt rejection seeping in. Then, anger flashed in her eyes. He looked to John again, as if to ask not good? But his friend was only shaking his head.

Molly pushed him away forcefully, and he felt something twist in his chest. "Well, I'm so sorry if my possible kidnapping and/or death would be inconvenient for you, Sherlock. I'll try to keep that in mind next time," she hissed before storming off down the alley, leaving him feeling crushed in her wake. However, she stopped halfway there, turned toward him, and said just loud enough for him to hear, "You know, for once, for one single moment, I thought you were actually being nice. I thought you came to help me because you cared about me, but all you care about is the work. Your cases and your experiments. God, I was so stupid, all these years I've been so stupid."

Then, she turned fully and looked him in the eye as she delivered the final blow. "You don't even have a heart, do you?"

She pivoted and started to sprint toward her flat.

"Molly, no. Molly, wait!" Sherlock yelled, beginning to run after her until a hand grabbed onto his wrist.

"John, let go of me, I have to go talk to her."

"And what exactly will you say? You're big mouth got you into this situation. You don't need to talk to her until you've figured out how, and until she's had some time to cool off and think a bit."

Sherlock wanted to disagree with his friend vehemently, but he knew he was right. He went over Molly's words again in his head, not understanding how things had escalated out of control so quickly. How could she so completely misunderstand his words?

"John, how could she not know what I meant?"

John sighed deeply. "Sherlock, inconvenient was not the best word to use. You don't want a woman to think you keep her around purely out of convenience. That doesn't show caring, it shows laziness and boredom. Second, given everything that you've done to her previously, it just makes it seem like you only want her alive so you can continue to use her..."

"But that's not what I meant at all!"

"I know that, but she doesn't. With women, you have to tell them what they want to hear. You have to say that you need them, you love them, you can't live without them."

"That's what I meant! Why did she not know that?"

"Because you have to say it Sherlock! You have to talk to her, my God! You have to do what I've told you from the beginning. You can't keep skirting around the truth like a scared little boy anymore."

"I'm not a scared little b-"

"Yes, you are, and if you don't do something about this soon, you are going to lose her. So, stop being a coward and be the man she deserves."

John stomped down the alley and Sherlock felt his gut clench as he thought his friend was leaving him too. Then he saw the flashing lights of the police car he hadn't noticed had arrived. They each gave their statements to Lestrade as another officer hauled the attacker into the car. Lestrade looked around.

"Hang on, where's Molly?"

"She went home," Sherlock said, his voice empty.

"And you just let her. Sherlock, we need her statement. Why on earth would you do th-"

He cut off when Sherlock fixed him with a deadly glare. "She went home," he said again, his voice dangerous this time.

"Right," Lestrade said, his eyes wide. "I suppose we can just get her statement in the morning."

Sherlock nodded sharply before hailing a cab.


	5. Would You Shut Up?

He knew he had to act fast, but John was right. He had to plan what he was going to say, and she needed time. He waited three days before he visited Barts. Three excruciating days. He never even knew he could feel like this. He despised it. Part of him wanted to hate Molly for awakening these emotions within him. After all, this had been the whole reason he had avoided sentiment in the first place. It was a distraction. It was destructive. But, he could never hate her.

As he walked into the morgue, he was immediately calmed and keyed up by her presence at the same time. Her back was turned to him, and he walked to her slowly, careful not to disrupt her. For a moment, he simply watched her as she worked, humming softly to herself. He wondered if she knew she did that. Her face was serene, free of the worry and pain he so frequently saw, and he thought she had never looked more beautiful. Finally, he knew he must speak; he couldn't look at her forever.

"Molly?"

She jumped at his voice and turned on the spot. Then her eyes narrowed.

"I really don't want to see you, Sherlock," she hissed, causing him to flinch. He had never seen such anger in her, especially directed toward him.

"Molly, please. You and I have a lot to discuss. Would you like to go get some coffee?"

His blood ran cold as her fury grew. "No, Sherlock, I would not like to go get you some coffee! How dare you come in here after what happened and make demands of me..."

His jaw dropped as she continued to rant. What? How could she possibly have misinterpreted it this time? He didn't say 'how about some coffee?' He didn't ask her to get him coffee. It was clearly an invitation!

She continued her tirade, her voice becoming hysterical as she went on. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. She began using her hands for emphasis, not even looking at him now. This wasn't going at all how he had planned. It never did with her, because she never reacted as he expected. But then, wasn't that why he loved her? Because she was wonderful and fascinating in her own right? Suddenly, he disagreed with his previous assessment. She didn't look most beautiful when calm. She looked it now, her cheeks flushed angrily, her eyes filled with passion, and her hair slightly mussed from where her own hand had been running through it. He knew then, he couldn't hold back any longer.

"...I may not be as brilliant as you, but I am a bloody good pathologist. You can't come in here ordering me around like I'm your personal slave..."

"Molly."

"...and to think I wasted three years waiting for some smidgen of affection from you. Ha!The only thing you've ever cared about is yourself..."

"Molly."

"...but if you think you can just stroll in here after what happened, ask me for coffee and just talk your way out of this, well, you've got another thing coming, mister. I mean, honestly..."

"Molly!"

But it did no good. She ignored him completely.

"Damnit, Molly," he growled, and before he could stop himself, or even think about his actions really, he had grabbed her, rather forcefully, and pressed his lips against hers.

Her voice cut off immediately as she went stiff in his arms, but all he could focus on was the sensation of her soft, warm lips against his own and - smack!

"Ow! What the bloody hell did you do that for?"

"What? I did that because you just kissed me to shut me up you bloody git! That's a new low, even for you! I can't believe you would-"

"I didn't do it to shut you up!"

She stopped and just raised an eyebrow at him.

"Well, okay, I partly did it to shut you up, but mostly I did it because I wanted to. Seriously though, that really hurt. You've got quite an arm on you, you know that?"

"What did you just say?"

"I said you've got an arm on you."

"Sherlock, you know that's not what I meant,"she says, and he hears how her voice tremors. He looks into her eyes and sees for the first time the vulnerability there, though she tried to cover it up with a frown. He gave her a soft smile as he gently cupped her cheek in his hand, causing her eyes to go wide.

"I said that I wanted to kiss you. In fact, I've been wanting to kiss you for many weeks now."

Hew jaw dropped. "W-what?" she stuttered. He grinned at the return of his Molly.

"Molly, the last time I asked you for coffee several weeks ago, and when I asked you today, you misunderstood my intentions. I wasn't asking you to bring me coffee. I was asking you to go out with me for coffee. As in a date."

Her eyes were still wide, her mouth still slightly opened, but she remained speechless. He grew nervous, but he pressed forward anyway, determined.

"When I came in asking for advice about someone, you thought I was talking about John. I was talking about you, Molly. I had hurt you so badly, and I had no idea how to make up for it. I know now that it was silly to act as if I wasn't talking about myself, but I didn't know how to talk to you. This isn't exactly my area of expertise here."

Again, she remained silent, and he felt a knot growing in his stomach. He continued anyway.

"A few weeks ago, when I came in saying all those odd things and you thought I was sick or drugged, yes I heard your conversation with John, I was trying to find ways to tell you how much I cared for you. It was stupid, I know. I was trying to find a way to say it without actually saying it, because every time I tried to speak to you about it I became tongue-tied. I admit, I couldn't have done it in a worse manner, but I had to tell you somehow that I loved you."

Silence engulfed the lab, but he thought he saw her eyes grow a bit larger.

"And when you were attacked...I understand now that my word choice was very poor when I told you losing you would be inconvenient. What I meant to tell you was that losing you would be unbearable. Hearing you scream on the phone, I thought I had for a moment and I...I cannot describe the terror that I felt. I-I've never felt it before in my life, and I never wish to feel it again. This entire time, I've only hurt you even more, and it could have been avoided if I hadn't been a coward and just told you the truth. I'm sorry."

She froze completely, and he wondered he she was even breathing. He felt the rejection seeping into every part of him. He was too late. She already hated him too much.

"Molly, please say something," he begged. As if he had spoken the magic words, she sprang into action, and by that, meaning she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down to smash her lips against his.

He remained unresponsive in shock for all of two seconds before pressing her body tightly to him. She moaned into his mouth at the action, and he felt his stomach jump at the sound. She began to run her fingers through his hair, lightly scratching his scalp. He groaned before nipping her lip lightly. She moaned again, loudly this time, and tugged at his curls roughly. He growled, pulling away from her mouth. She began to whimper in protest, but it quickly turned into a gasp as he attached his lips to her neck. After a few moments, however, her fingers, still firmly wrapped in his locks, began to pull his head away.

"Sherlock," she whispered, and only then did he look up at her. He looked nothing like the polish consulting detective in that moment. His cheeks flushed, his eyes fully dilated, his lips swollen, and his hair sticking up in every direction.

"I should probably tell you that I love you. I always have," she spoke shyly, a small smile on her face, which only grew as a full blow grin broke out across his. Suddenly, he attacked her.

"I love you." He kissed her left cheek. "I love you." He kissed her right cheek. "I love you." He kissed her collarbone. "I love you." He kissed the hollow beneath her ear.

Finally, he hovered right over her lips, staring directly into her eyes. "I love you." He kissed her forcefully. Unfortunately, he pulled away all too soon.

"Someone's coming," he whispered urgently. Panic grew in her eyes, and she pushed him off her frantically, causing him to fall over. She didn't stop to apologize as she ran over to her desk and bent over her paperwork. Not five seconds late, Mike Stamford strolled in.

"Ah, Molly. I just came to relieve you of your shift for the ni- Sherlock? What are you doing on the floor?"

"Um, part of an experiment. Testing the traces of uh...lead on the floor. It's most commonly tracked in by shoes, you know?"

"Oh, right. I knew that."

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the lie as he stood up.

"Well, I'm going to pop up to the lab real quick to grab some cultures, but I wanted to let you know you're free to go, Molly."

Molly smiled politely. "Thanks, Mike."

As soon as the door closed, Molly rushed over to Sherlock.

"I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

Sherlock chuckled. "I'm fine, Molly."

They walked to the door after Molly gathered her things. She turned to him at the door, the silence filled with a tense electricity.

"Be careful," he whispered as he tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. Of course, he would follow her home anyway to make sure she did, but she didn't need to know that. She looked down then, a sudden blush covering her cheeks, and he wondered what she was thinking.

"You wouldn't have to tell me that if you came home with me," she spoke softly. He swallowed, his adams apple bobbing in his throat. His heart picked up double speed as his breathing grew shallow and he knew without looking that his eyes would be fully dilated. Molly however couldn't see any of this as she looked at her shoes, and she took his lack of response as rejection.

"Unless you don't want to. I mean, of course you don't. That was awfully presumptuous of me. I'm sorry, I-"

She shrieked suddenly as he picked her up bridal style and carried her out the door.

"It would be my pleasure, Molly Hooper," he said, grinning. She giggled as he walked quickly to the elevator.


End file.
